Elite (Citizen Saga, Book 1) (20 page)

And love never,
ever
made any sense at all.

At least there was no red cape, I told myself as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Then tugged at the cravat currently strangling my neck. My fingers brushed my recently cut hair back from my forehead, the gunk Kevin had insisted I use leaving slimy trails on my palms. I almost rubbed them on the suit jacket, but managed to stop myself just in time.

This was quite possibly my worst nightmare. Dressed up like a penguin and attending a blank-minded Elite ball. I forced my feet into the too stiff, highly polished black shoes, yanking on the shoelaces as though this was all their fault. Thank God they didn't snap. I wasn't sure if we had replacements that would pass the test.

I straightened and sucked in a breath of air as I stared at my eyes in the mirror. It had been a couple of weeks since I tested, but as Lena had pointed out tonight's test would likely be different than just a pee sample and alkaline dipstick shoved into a Shiloh scanner. Those the replicas could fool. But there were others the Overseers utilised.

My fingertips rubbed together in lazy circles as I blinked a few times to check the reaction of my pupils. A steady intake of coffee and high sugar foods all day had left me feeling twitchy, but counteracted the Serenity Tab enough to make me appear normal. At least, normal in the eyes of Wánměi.

I leaned back and took one last look at the entire outfit, ignoring the out of body sensation that came with the move. I didn't look like me at all, which was probably a good a thing. But I had the disconcerting feeling the sensation went further than skin deep.

Ever since Lena had appeared in my life that feeling was becoming more noticeable.

I straightened my shoulders, gave my reflection a wink, and walked out of the room, strolling along the corridor as though I didn't have a care in the world.

Zikri was the first to see me and he just burst out laughing, shaking his head. Carla, unfortunately, was the second. Her eyes widened, an appreciative smile curved her lips and she sauntered over toward me. I almost took a step back but remembered myself at the last moment.

"You look good enough to eat," she declared.

"And I see you bothered to redress," I replied coolly.

"You noticed?" she asked, pulling at the now correctly buttoned shirt she wore. Just what the hell she'd been playing at earlier I did not know. But I was sure if I tried hard enough I could guess, and that guess would involve her riling Lena.

The thought of Lena had me sidestepping Carla without another word and crossing the tech room to Si.

"Is she ready?" I asked, and Si pointed to a security screen showing Damia and Lena emerging from her room, both of them laughing as though they'd bonded at a sleepover.

My breath caught in my throat and with a numb kind of knowledge I swallowed thickly and turned towards the door, awaiting their arrival. It occurred to me, as I stood there like a lovesick puppy, that I was making a fool of myself. But even if I could have moved, I don't think I wanted to. The desire to lay eyes on her before anyone else consumed me.

Damia walked into the room first, dressed in black and fully armed, ready for the night. Just like her brother. Then Lena glided in on sparkling wings.

Jesus. What was I supposed to do with this?

She smiled at a few people who had the wherewithal to announce she looked beautiful. She even laughed with someone who joked that she was Elite dolled up and far too perfect for our plain old hub. She moved between my team as though she belonged, even as she outshone every single one of us. A blinding star, bright, magnificent, and omnipresent. Out of my reach.

I cleared my throat and she lifted crystal encrusted eyelashes revealing stunning ice blue eyes.

I almost groaned aloud. This was going to be harder than facing Chew-wen.

"You look good," I managed, and forced myself not to cringe at the highly inadequate words.

"Nice one, Trent," someone muttered over my shoulder. "Real suave."

Yep. That was me as far as Lena was concerned.

"You ready?" she asked, not providing me with any reciprocal compliment, inadequate or otherwise.

I glanced around for Alan and found him smirking in the corner watching my fall from grace. He looked appropriately dressed in black, so I returned my attention to Lena and nodded.

"We're ready," I replied, inordinately pleased to have sounded like my old self.

"Very well," she offered with an Elite smile. A part of me was disappointed to hear the Honourable Selena Carstairs emerge again. But part of me was grateful to be reminded of where exactly I was going dressed like this. "I believe Harjeet has arranged a limousine for us," she added and I felt myself tense.

"Just us?"

She blinked. The light caught on the crystals on her lashes and blinded me for a split second. And then awareness came rushing back in when she added, "Do you think we should take the black clad men armed with weapons and decoders and earpieces in the vehicle with us to the Palace's front door?"

Sarcasm dripped off every word, laced with unbridled amusement.

"Ah, of course not," I replied, feeling my skin tighten and heat wash up my cheeks.

I saw her fight it. I watched as her lips twitched and her eyes danced and all air was sucked from the room. Then she laughed and I was so fucking lost. And for the first time in my entire life I forgot why I was here. Why I was even born. What my role had always been.

Save Wánměi?

I don't think so.

Make this woman mine? Yes, please.

The
Ohrikee
was lit up like a glowing beacon of gold. The normally white walls gilded by the simple use of well placed golden hued spotlights. On the side of the building facing a packed Broadway flowing images made up of projected coloured lights depicted Wánměi Citizens, well-known Honourables, Cardinals and Overseers. A representation of all that is good in our city, from those who have risen from the ranks of Citizen to become more, to those born to lead and set an example.

I noted, abstractly, that my image appeared more than once. I wasn't sure how to take that.

Trent had been silent on the trip over, maybe because we couldn't trust the driver hired by Harjeet, or maybe because he kept flicking glances at my shimmering bodice, at my feet as they sat demurely in the diamanté encrusted shoes, at the crystals on my lashes. I noted he didn't once look at the diamond hanging from my neck, as though it paled in comparison to me.

I'd tried, with every ounce of willpower I had, not to look too closely at him. He wore a made to measure dinner jacket; one Harjeet would have had created just for tonight. The workmanship was exquisite, nobody would have been able to tell a stall vendor in
Little D'awa
had tailored this. Harjeet, I was beginning to realise, hid more talents behind his façade than anyone I knew.

But it wasn't the fine cut of the suit or the quality of the cravat at his neck that made looking away so difficult. Trent had had a haircut, making him appear more model Citizen than I had yet seen. His eyes shone with the correct amount of excitement and complacency, his demeanour was one of languid charm, the tilt to his chin completely superior. He was the model of an Elite.

And it surprised me how much I didn't like it. Not that he wasn't dashing and attractive and irresistible to the eye. He just wasn't the cocky, down to earth Citizen I had come to... like.

Admitting that I liked him seemed dangerous, so I pushed that thought from my mind and looked at the crowd lining the street, desperately trying to get a glimpse of someone famous, someone influential. Someone Elite.

I made a sound of disquiet and Trent's hand slipped into mine and squeezed. No words to calm me, to bolster me, to agree with me. Just the comfort of his presence, the reminder that I wasn't alone. I realised Trent did better without words. His actions often relaying emotions that warmed, rather than statements made in haste that seemed disconnected from his brain.

I was quite sure he despised his foot-in-mouth moments, but despite getting it right with just a simple gesture, I missed the unguarded responses that slipped through his lips. I missed his lips.

My eyes darted to his face, but thankfully he was taking in the Cardinal drones dotted around the periphery of the Palace grounds. There were more than Harjeet had expected, I think. How the others would get through was a decided worry. But as the car rolled over the gravel driveway, and came to a stop at the grand colonnaded façade, I pushed those concerns from my mind.

Now was the time to act the part.

The traditionally D'Awan attired footman opened the limousine door at my side and with a deep breath, denying myself the chance to baulk at what was ahead, I let him guide me from the car. The heat of a Wánměi night met me, as the strobe lights danced across the gleaming arches of the Palace, hidden shadows that should have seemed artful but appeared more ominous, fading in and out as they passed. The sound of many voices could be heard, mixed with the trickle of water in an oversized nearby fountain.

The footman bowed, releasing my hand, and murmured, "Welcome home." In
Anglisc
, of course. Despite his ancestry and national dress.

"Thank you," I replied, waiting for Trent to appear at my side. His nervousness was apparent immediately, as cameras flashed and those reporters allowed inside the grounds vied for our smiles. I was somewhat used to this, but Trent was in over his head.

My hand slipped into his in a very inappropriate Elite-like fashion, but he needed the touch to make him move, to make the stiff and uncomfortable look on his face relax to one of barely interested ration dosed calm. He sucked in a breath beside me and smiled. The cameras clicked furiously, no doubt trying to frantically identify the guest on my arm tonight.

I lifted the hem of my dress and started climbing the stairs, aware each rise was taking me closer to the first drone we'd meet tonight. There was more than one on the door, but an iPol with eScanner attached to his arm stood out of the line, like a soldier pushed forward by his peers. The gleam of metal in the moving beams of light gave the machine the appearance of animation, of being alive. But the only thing living about a drone was the Cardinal who directed it from a safe place far enough away to not be harmed.

It had been a long time since a drone had been harmed, I wondered if tonight would change that.

"Prepare for iRec," the drone announced. The welcome of the footman replaced with mechanical efficiency.

I stepped forward and rested my chin on his outstretched fingers, holding still while the green laser rolled over my eye. No matter how many times I was subjected to this, my heart still thrummed mercilessly fast within my chest. An innate fear I could not control. I felt the slow trickle of sweat as it slid down the side of my neck, the twitch in my cheek with the desperate need to blink my eyes.

"Honourable Selena Carstairs," the drone's Shiloh unit announced. "No warrants issued. Highest regards."

The relieved breath that left me was impossible to contain. Not for the fact that I'd passed an iRec, or even that a warrant hadn't, as yet, been issued for my arrest. But that my guardian still allowed me
Highest Regards
. It meant there was hope for our negotiations. It meant murder was not a foregone conclusion; an impossible avoidance for me this night.

Trent stepped forward, his shoulders back, his head held high. I saw the revolutionary leader in the arrogance of his stance, in the rigidity of his frame. Unbending. Uncompromising. Daring the iPol drone to call him out on the steps of
Ohrikee
.

The green laser light seemed to stall as it scanned him, just as my breaths did, just as my heartbeat did as well. Heaven knows what his organs were doing right now, but there was no sign of perspiration, of muscles twitching along his jaw. He was calm, in control, staring death in the eyes and not blinking.

I couldn't pull my gaze away. I couldn't stop seeing this man in new and entirely unexpected light.

"Citizen Trent Masters," the drone's Shiloh unit announced. Cameras clicked behind us, intermingled with the odd suppressed and surprised gasps. The adopted daughter of the Chief Overseer brings a Citizen to the celebration ball. "No warrants issued," the Shiloh added, and if I hadn't been watching so closely, I would have missed the breath of relief that escaped Trent's barely parted lips.

"Citizen," the drone said, lowering his hand. He hadn't addressed me after the iRec, but he was making a point of acknowledging Trent's status aloud. "Please proceed," he instructed and we were ushered further into the Palace itself.

I wasn't naive enough to believe that was the end of the security checks. It was only a display put on for the cameras, making the Citizens who watched from home believe things were normal and relatively low key. Inside the halls cameras swivelled, drones stood on guard, and even Cardinals in person watched from the shadows with alert and aggressive eyes.

A chill raced down my spine. General Chew-wen expected trouble tonight.

I couldn't help feeling we were walking into a trap.

A Cardinal stepped out from behind a plush drape covering a small alcove to the side, his red cloak swished around his ankles as he clipped his feet together in standard salute.

"Honourable Selena Carstairs," he greeted. "Welcome home to the
Ohrikee
."

I didn't know him. I didn't recognise him. But he wore the gold ornamental braided cord over his right shoulder that indicated Chew-wen's personal guard.

"Cardinal. Where is my guardian? Is he receiving?" I asked, in masterful Elite tones.

"He is occupied, but suggested you enjoy the dancing until he is free."

Free to summon me.

"Very well," I said, lowering my head in appropriate model behaviour. I began heading toward the stairs that led to the private quarters, but the Cardinal appeared before me again. His eyes flicking between me and Trent over my shoulder.

"You must be tested before you proceed," he declared.

"Is that truly necessary?" I demanded. "This was, after all, once my home." My act was just that, an act. I knew the answer, and I was sure the Cardinal was aware I was just playing a part. But for the General, should he be watching, I had to fulfil my role.

"Everyone inside the
Ohrikee
tonight will be tested, Honourable," he said in a faux pleasant tone.

"Very well," I agreed, smiling. Complacency forefront in my mind.

He led us over to a room to the side where several guests were being tested already, and handed us off to more guards. No green light from an eScanner to be seen anywhere. No toilets for us to pee on a stick. Just Cardinals, not drones, sitting on one side of a desk, as guests held out their hands and had their fingertips pricked. Then the blood smeared on a slide and placed in a Shiloh receptacle to the side.

No alarm bells rang out, no one was being thrown to the ground and arrested, then dragged away to be wiped. Just an orderly flow of people, obediently following the directive of the Cardinals, without so much as a raised eyebrow.

Sheep, I thought. Mindless sheep. Didn't they know what an invasion of privacy this was? Didn't they care?

Obviously not, because they smiled as their skin was broken, and as their fingers were brutally squeezed by an uncaring gloved hand. And all through their blood being swallowed by Shiloh and then analysed and assessed. Their complacent smiles never dimmed as Shiloh announced their successful testing and they were ushered away to attend what promised to be a grand event. Worthy of a break from their routine; this being the only time they lowered their vid-screens and interacted face to face.

I flicked a glance at Trent as we approached separate desks. His eyes were already searching for mine. What would the alarm bells sound like? Would they clang loudly, making everyone cringe? Or would they be a surreptitious red blinking light, with a soft, threatening word from one of the Cardinals who stood sentinel along the wall at our backs.

I couldn't stop the tremble in my fingers as I held them out to the Cardinal sitting behind the desk. His eyes flicked up to mine, the first time he'd looked up to see who his next subject was, and recognition flashed in their depths.

"Are you nervous, Honourable?" he enquired. I was sure the other guests hadn't been asked that.

I willed myself to pull it together, and offered the best beguiling smile I could muster. Then said, "The sight of blood makes me queasy, Cardinal."

"Ah," he said with a knowing smile, accepting my explanation with ease. "I shall endeavour to hide the blood then." He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Close your eyes, no one will see."

I swallowed past a dry throat, smiled again while flicking my gaze around the wall at his back and determining there were actually cameras filming over his shoulder and he had just lied. And then without any other avenue open to me, and as he was waiting patiently for me to comply, I closed my lids. Feeling more scared in the darkness that followed than I'd been in the bright, white lights, that hid nothing of the Palace tonight.

The prick of his stylus made me gasp and a soft sweep of a gloved thumb over my wrist made me stiffen, then the scrape of a glass testing slide against my fingertip followed. I dared to open my eyes when the Cardinal released my hand, the slide already in the Shiloh unit, the hum of her scanning and testing the sample joining a buzz that rang in my ears.

There wasn't an alarm, as I had suspected. Too disruptive by far. Just a small beep, and then a red flashing light, followed by Shiloh announcing in an impartial voice, "Test failure." Just once. Not on repeat, not with a
whoop, whoop
accompanying it. But once.

Making the entire room still.

Trent was pulling back his hand from the Cardinal who'd been holding it, his sample already in a Shiloh unit and flashing silently green. His eyes met mine, a horror there that shouldn't have existed. We'd known I'd fail, I'd said as much back at the hub.

But nothing prepares you for this moment. Nothing prepares you for the reality of the world our Wánměi was. Cardinal guards hurrying to surround me, backed up by drones in great numbers. All for one Elite who failed to consume her rations.

The Cardinal of earlier stepped through the throng, the surprise on his face barely hidden behind a superior mask.

"Honourable Selena Carstairs," he said, then paused as though not sure how to react.

I smiled, taking pity on the man, and then said, "You don't suppose my guardian would see me now, do you?"

"Ah," he said, flicking his eyes around the waiting crowd of Cardinals and drones.